


What He Wants

by kinksock22



Series: What He.../Swesson [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - It's a Terrible Life, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Bottom Sam, Coming Untouched, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Office Sex, Rimming, Shy Sam, Spanking, Sub Sam, Swesson, Top Dean, safe sex, sam and dean not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinksock22/pseuds/kinksock22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt at the kink meme: <i>I'd like read something based on this: http://41.media.tumblr.com/6bd4ac8e464ab01f8633ebfdbffe91f1/tumblr_nuta2rofZD1ubz210o1_1280.jpg</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Please only bottom!Sam (no switch-hitting or submissive!Dean)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Wants

The kid catches Dean’s attention from the jump. He’s only been at Sandover a few days when he sees him in the lobby, waiting along with Dean and several others for the elevator. Dean watches him from the corner of his eye, notices the downturned gaze and the stiff way he holds himself, the way that he’s standing just slightly apart from everyone else. He’s tall – ridiculously so – but there’s just the slightest slump to his shoulders, something someone else probably wouldn’t even notice, and it’s obvious that he’s trying, quite unsuccessfully, to make himself smaller. The terrible yellow polo and khaki combo that the poor bastards in tech support are stuck with doesn’t do much to hide the bulk of muscle or the sinfully-sweet curve of his perky little ass. He’s hot, there’s no denying that, and Dean has no problem picturing him spread out beneath him, naked and hard and begging. Can see his own hands buried in that mane of soft, chestnut-colored hair, his fingers tangling in the wavy mess of it.  
  
When the elevator finally comes, Dean hangs back, lets everyone else get in before him – including _him_ – then gets on himself, standing close enough in the crowded car to feel the heat emanating from his large body, to smell the slight trace of his cologne and his stronger, natural musk.  
  
Dean decides immediately that he wants him. And Dean Smith _always_ gets what he wants.  
  
He has to be careful though. And not just because he’s in a position of authority. No one at Sandover knows that his preferences tend to lean toward built, strong and male instead of soft, curvy and female. He really doesn’t believe that it’s any of their concern. Who he chooses to be with is his own business and doesn’t affect the way he does his job.  
  
Over the next several weeks, Dean doesn’t see much of the walking wet-dream from tech support. They share a few cramped elevators but that’s pretty much it. It’s really putting a dent in his plan to see him hanging off his cock any time soon. He’s to the point that he’s contemplating sabotaging his computer or printer just to get the guy in his office.  
  
But as luck would have it, he doesn’t end up having to.  
  
A report comes across his desk with a few minor errors, things that Dean could actually fix himself within a matter of minutes, but it’s from tech support so Dean calls the extension for S. Wesson, hoping like hell that this turns out to be him.  
  
“Tech support, this is Sam.”  
  
The tone is smooth and professional but a little soft, a hint of the depth that it could reach under the right circumstances. It actually fits well with the body that Dean’s caught too few glimpses of and he smirks to himself. He’s about ninety percent sure that this is his guy.  
  
“This is Dean Smith, Director of Sales and Marketing. Can I see you in my office?”  
  
“Sure,” Sam stammers slightly. “Of course, Mr. Smith. I’ll be right there.”  
  
“Fantastic.”  
  
Dean hangs up and leans back in his chair, the report on his desk, and waits. It takes less than five minutes before there’s a knock at his partially closed door and Dean glances up, barely fights back the smile wanting to curl up his lips. Standing in his doorway looking a little lost and unsure stands Sam Wesson, the man he’s been picturing naked for the last two weeks.  
  
“Come in,” Dean nods, motioning toward the chair in front of his desk. Sam nods in return and moves to take a seat, tip-tilted eyes dropping slightly as soon as he’s sitting. “Sam, was it?”  
  
“Um, yes, sir,” Sam murmurs.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Dean smiles, his tone inviting and warm. Sam’s eyes flicker up to his briefly before dropping again. Dean’s sure that the kid is probably nervous as all hell, thinking that he’s done something wrong, waiting to be punished or fired.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith,” Sam replies quietly.  
  
Dean leans forward, pushing the paper across the desk. “Just a few issues on the latest report that you filed,” Dean explains. Sam’s eyes dart to the paper then up to Dean’s, wide and panicked. Dean finds himself staring for a few moments, lost in their depths. They’re the most interesting, beautiful shade of hazel-green and Dean can’t wait to see them darken with need. “Not a big deal, Sam. Really,” he assures the younger man, flashing him another smile. Sam sighs softly and visibly relaxes a bit. “Just need to correct a few minor things and we’re good to go.”  
  
He grabs his pen and points out the errors, his gaze continually darting up from the page to Sam’s face, the way he’s biting down on his bottom lip as he listens intently. God, there’s so much raw potential in this kid. Oh what Dean could do to him.  
  
Dean pushes the paper closer to Sam but keeps one hand covering it, forcing Sam to look back up at him in silent question. “Go ahead and make the corrections then bring it right back up to me, okay.” It’s not really a question but Sam still nods and stammers out an _Of course, Mr. Smith, right away._ Dean nods and flashes another smile at Sam. There really is no need for Sam to bring the corrected report back to him but it gives Dean another chance to see him, to interact with him. And thankfully Sam doesn’t question it.  
  
After their first official meeting in his office, Dean sees Sam around more and more. It’s thrilling in a sense but also incredibly frustrating. Dean’s almost sure that he catches Sam covertly checking him out from time to time but he can’t ever be _completely_ sure and that’s a problem. He has no reservations about dipping his pen in the company ink, so long as it’s welcome.  
  
A little over a month after the first time he saw Sam, Dean’s working late, trying to keep ahead of the huge project that Mr. Adler dumped in his lap at the last second. He runs one hand down over his face, blinking, his bleary eyes focusing on the time on his computer. It’s well-past eight on a Friday night and he’s still got a few hours to go yet. Huffing a sigh, Dean pushes himself up out of his chair and heads out of his office in search of some much needed caffeine. He makes it halfway to the breakroom on twenty-two before remembering that the damn machine is broken. Huffing again, he turns and heads in the other direction toward the elevator. The only other breakroom is on twelve, right beside the cubical farm where tech support is.  
  
Dean’s brow furrows when he walks down the hallway toward the breakroom, seeing the bright light of a single computer screen in the middle of the rows of cubes. As he gets closer, he sees that it’s Sam. What kind of luck does he have that Sam is obviously working late the same night that he is? Aside from the security guard, they’re the only two in the building. It’s fate or destiny or kismet or something. It has to be. At the very least, Dean takes it as a sign.  
  
Sam must hear him approaching, his head snapping up, their eyes locking together. In the almost eerie glow of the monitor, Dean can see a faint blush spread across Sam’s high cheekbones, the way his eyes widen just slightly. Instead of heading for the breakroom, Dean turns toward Sam’s cube, leans against the ‘wall’ next to him, smiles down at the younger man.  
  
“Sam,” Dean murmurs in greeting.  
  
“Mr. Smith,” Sam replies quietly.  
  
“You’re here awfully late.” The blush across Sam’s cheeks darkens slightly and he nods. “Everything okay?”  
  
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Sam stammers, dropping his eyes a bit. “There were just a few things Mr. Adler needed me to work on…”  
  
“What a coincidence,” Dean smiles. “Need a hand with anything?”  
  
“No thank you, Mr. Smith. I’m actually just finishing up,” Sam answers softly. He licks his lips, chewing on the bottom one for a moment before his gaze slowly raises back to Dean’s. “What about you?” he damn-near whispers.  
  
“What about me, Sam?”  
  
“You’re here kinda late yourself,” Sam points out.  
  
“Ah, yeah. Big project. Lotta work. Lotta late hours.”  
  
“Is there…” Sam pauses, a small smile flickering across his lips, a hint of dimples that Dean hadn’t noticed before creasing his cheeks. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he eventually asks, the words rushed, nearly run together.  
  
It's like the script and dialogue of a bad porno but Dean can’t deny that it sends a bolt of heat through his veins. And Sam just unknowingly gave Dean the opening he’d been waiting for.  
  
“Ah, I’m sure a young, handsome guy like you has something better to do on a Friday night.”  
  
“I don’t,” Sam blurts out. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Sam’s eyes widen even more and that pretty pink blush gets deeper. “I-I mean… I’d be happy to help, Mr. Smith,” he mutters.  
  
Dean angles his body more toward Sam, leans over just slightly. Sam swallows thickly, blinking owlishly as he stares up at Dean. “That’s mighty kind’a you, Sam,” Dean draws around a smirk. He’s sure there’s _something_ he can find for Sam to do, some kind of busy work, anything to get him in – and keep him in – Dean’s office for a bit. “I’d surely appreciate the help.” He flashes Sam a quick smile and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Just gonna grab a cup of coffee then we can head up.”  
  
“Of course, Mr. Smith.”  
  
“How ‘bout you just call me Dean?”  
  
“I-I couldn’t, Mr. Smith…”  
  
“You can,” Dean counters, leaning just a bit closer. “It’ll be our little secret.” He winks at Sam then pushes himself up and away from the wall of Sam’s cube and heads toward the breakroom.  
  
Within a few short minutes they’re sharing an elevator back up to twenty-two. Dean’s lost in his own thoughts of how exactly to proceed in his quest to have Sam naked and writhing on his desk. He’s pretty positive at this point that Sam would be on board but he still has to proceed carefully.  
  
As soon as they get into Dean’s office, he sets Sam up with a stack of reports to go through, leans against the back of Sam’s chair, one hand on his shoulder as he shows him what to look for. It’s very minute but before Dean moves away, Sam leans ever so slightly back against him. Dean smirks, his fingers trailing over the exposed skin of Sam’s neck as he backs off, sees the fine tremor that runs through his entire body, thick muscles shifting beneath soft, warm skin.  
  
Dean forces himself to move around his desk and sit down in his seat. He fiddles around with the computer, makes it look like he’s working but his mind isn’t even remotely on the million-dollar deal that he should be focusing on. He’s mostly watching Sam from the corner of his eye, watches as the younger man chews on the end of his pen, his finger, his bottom lip. The kid definitely has an oral fixation and Dean can easy picture his cock between those soft, pink lips.  
  
He lets Sam work for a bit in silence before glancing fully at him, smiling when their eyes catch, pleased that he isn’t the only one looking. “So, nothin’ better to do on a Friday,” he states, shaking his head slightly. “No pretty little girl waitin’ on you at home?”  
  
“Uh, n-no, sir… no girl,” Sam mutters, dropping his gaze.  
  
“No?” Dean asks. “Then how ‘bout a pretty boy waitin’ on you at home?”  
  
Sam’s eyes snap back up to him, wide and panicked like the first time Sam was called into his office. Dean holds up a hand, smile firmly in place. “It’s okay,” he soothes softly. “Not judging.” He leans a bit across the desk, gaze intent on Sam. “Between you and me?” Sam nods hesitantly. “It’d be mighty hypocritical for me to judge you for that.”  
  
It takes a few seconds but Dean sees the moment that Sam gets what he’s heavily implying. His cheeks flush again, his eyes darkening just slightly. “You didn’t answer the question though, Sam,” Dean reminds him after a few moments.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Got someone waitin’ on you at home?” Dean repeats.  
  
“No, no one,” Sam answers softly.  
  
Dean licks his lips and leans back in his chair again, reaches up to loosen his tie, unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. He’d already ditched his jacket hours ago. Sam’s gaze flickers down to his fingers, then snap back up to his face and Dean barely bites back a smirk. He’s done even pretending to work at this point.  
  
Reaching across the desk, Dean carefully pulls the pages away from Sam, flashing him a reassuring smile when Sam’s brow furrows in confusion. “We’ve been at this a while,” Dean states softly, which is a total lie; it’s been barely ten, fifteen minutes. “Why don’t we take a break, huh?”  
  
“Sure, of course, Mr. Smith,” Sam replies. Dean quirks one eyebrow. “Dean,” Sam corrects, his voice soft, the sound nearly caressing Dean’s name. He likes it. Wants to hear Sam moan and whimper it.  
  
Dean pushes himself up out of his chair and circles around the desk, leaning back against it, his leg barely brushing against Sam’s. The kid blushes again – Dean can’t help but find it adorable – and drops his head slightly, swallowing thickly. His hair falls around his face and Dean can’t stop himself from reaching out, sliding his fingers into the wavy mess; he has to know if it’s as silky-soft as it looks.  
  
Sam gasps quietly and raises his head, his eyes, enough to look at Dean. “If this isn’t okay,” Dean murmurs. “Just say the word and it stops. But say it now,” he adds, just a hint of steel to his voice, a gentle command but a command all the same.  
  
Sam’s lips part softly and Dean watches as his eyes darken. He nods, a short, half-dip of his chin. Dean slides his fingers deeper into Sam’s hair, tugs a little on the strands and Sam’s breath hitches. Dean smiles and leans down, his lips just skimming across the sharp cut of Sam’s cheekbone. “You like that?” he asks softly. “Want me to keep going?” Sam nods again and Dean backs away enough to look into his eyes. “Tell me.”  
  
Sam licks his lips, cheeks flushing even darker. “Yes,” he damn-near whispers.  
  
“Yes what, Sam?” Dean urges, their gazes still locked together.  
  
“W-want you to keep going,” Sam stammers.  
  
Dean turns his head, brushing another almost-kiss to Sam’s cheek, his lips. “Good boy,” he praises. Sam shivers just slightly and turns his head toward him. Dean sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes slowly dragging down Sam’s body, thrilled with the fact that he can openly look and that Sam’s watching while he does. “Let’s get you more comfortable, yeah?”  
  
“Dean?” Sam asks softly.  
  
“Take off your shirt,” Dean commands.  
  
Sam blinks owlishly for a few seconds before doing as he’s told. Dean notices a faint, barely-there tremble of his long, slender fingers when he drops them to the hem of that horrific yellow polo but Sam doesn’t hesitate to pull it off over his head. He keeps the material bunched in his hands and drops them into his lap. Dean smiles gently and leans forward, pulling the shirt away from him and tossing it onto the floor. Sam’s wearing a white V-neck t-shirt, the sleeves pulled tight across his biceps and straining a bit over his broad chest and shoulders. It’s a damn-good look on him but Dean wants bare skin, has been fantasizing about it from the moment he first saw Sam and he can’t wait anymore. “Undershirt too, Sam,” Dean murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest again.  
  
Sam takes a little more time removing it than he had the polo, his tip-tilted eyes wide and locked on Dean even though Dean can tell that he wants to look away. Dean licks his lips, bites down on the bottom one and nods in encouragement. Sam drops the shirt to the floor when he finally pulls it off, shaking his head slightly to get a few wayward strands of hair out of his eyes. Dean’s own eyes widen a bit when he takes in the sight of Sam half-naked before him, his chest, shoulders, arms… Fuck. Dean knew that the kid was ripped – it was obvious even through his clothes – but he really wasn’t prepared for the reality of it.  
  
Sam drops his hands into his lap again, long fingers tangling together. He looks so adorably shy and embarrassed and it surprises Dean. Surely he knows how hot he is, how he looks. Surely Dean isn’t the first man to look at him and truly appreciate what he has to offer.  
  
Dean wants to push him, to get him all the way naked, but Sam’s almost like a skittish horse, half a second away from bolting at all times. Dean uncrosses his arms and pulls his tie off, tossing it onto the desk before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Sam swallows thickly, still watching intently as Dean strips off both his shirts, tossing them casually to the floor with Sam’s.  
  
Sam’s gaze drags down his chest then snaps back up to his face guiltily. Dean scoots over slightly, still leaning back against his desk but now directly in front of Sam, standing in the open V of his legs. Dean reaches out and wraps one hand around Sam’s neck, fingers gently squeezing the tense muscles along the back, his thumb brushing over Sam’s Adam’s apple, up over his chin. He gently eases Sam’s head up slightly and leans forward, brushing a quick, chaste kiss to Sam’s lips.  
  
Sam inhales sharply and jerks forward slightly when Dean pulls away, his wide eyes staring up at Dean. “Easy,” Dean soothes, both hands curling around the thick muscle of Sam’s shoulders, fingers digging just barely into warm, soft flesh. Sam leans forward just barely into the touch, lips parting softly. “Stand up for me, sweetheart,” Dean commands quietly.  
  
Sam raises to his feet, swaying slightly, and Dean reaches out, steadying hands on the sharp jut of his hipbones. He can see the slight bulge of Sam’s cock pressing against the front of his khakis and it sends a fresh pulse of arousal down his spine. He gently kneads Sam’s hips, fingers slipping up to brush against the skin above his waistband.  
  
“Gonna take these off,” he states, leans forward to press a kiss to Sam’s perfect six-pack abs, nosing through the soft trail of hair leading from his belly button. He makes quick work of Sam’s belt, pulling the cheap leather from the loops and dropping it on his desk next to his tie, then works on the button and zipper, lips and tongue moving steadily over Sam’s stomach, his hips. He scrapes his teeth over the jut of bone and Sam makes a soft, almost-wounded noise in the back of his throat, tentative hands landing on Dean’s shoulders. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Hold on if you need to.”  
  
He pushes Sam’s pants down, letting gravity do the work once they’re past his thighs. He once again curls his hands around Sam’s hips, steadying him as Sam kicks off his shoes then steps out of his pants that have pooled around his ankles. Sam’s fingers dig into Dean’s shoulders and he can see a fine tremor running through his entire body.  
  
Once Sam’s standing there in front of him, tall and beautiful in nothing but a pair of sinfully-tight white boxer-briefs, Dean lets go, standing up fully as well. Sam’s got a few inches in height on him but it doesn’t matter. Dean grabs a handful of hair and pulls him down, slants their lips together again. Sam opens up to him so prettily, moaning softly in the back of his throat when Dean’s tongue pushes into his mouth, the kiss heating fairly quickly.  
  
Dean slides his other hand around Sam’s lean waist, over the curve of his ass, fingers digging into the firm muscle. Sam moans again, rocks his hips forward just barely, probably a reflex, and Dean can feel Sam’s cock twitch and harden even more against his own hip. He hums when he breaks the kiss, the hand in Sam’s hair moving down his cheek, thumb brushing across his spit-slick lips. Watching Sam’s face intently, he squeezes Sam’s ass again, smirking when Sam’s eyes flutter closed and he mewls softly.  
  
“Like that, baby?” Dean damn-near purrs, squeezing and kneading Sam’s ass through the thin cotton of his underwear. Sam nods shyly, drops his eyes to Dean’s chest. Sure, the shy thing Sam has going on is mostly adorable but it just won’t do, not right now, with this. Dean wants him and Dean will have him but not if Sam’s not fully on board. And the responses of his body aren’t enough for Dean. “Tell me, Sam,” he commands, still soft but firm.  
  
“Yes,” Sam breathes, glancing up at him through his lashes.  
  
Dean lets go of Sam’s hair and ass, grabs the waistband of his boxer-briefs, fingers brushing against the warm skin just beneath the elastic. Sam’s lips part and his eyes close again, body trembling even more. “You ever done this before, sweetheart?” Dean asks softly.  
  
“Yes,” Sam whispers, swallows thickly. “It’s just…” he trails off, his cheeks and ears and chest flushing pink.  
  
“Just what?” Dean urges gently.  
  
“Been a while,” Sam mutters.  
  
“How long’s a while?” Dean asks.  
  
“Few years,” Sam replies quietly.  
  
Dean blinks owlishly, truly taken aback. “How is that possible?” he asks incredulously. “You’re freakin’ gorgeous.” Sam’s blush deepens and he ducks his head. “Never mind,” he murmurs, leaning forward to brush a kiss to Sam’s blood-warm cheek. “Apparently everyone around you is either blind or stupid.”  
  
Dean pushes Sam’s boxer-briefs down and off, curls his fingers around the thick, long, hard length of Sam’s cock, smears his thumb through the bit of pre-come starting to leak from his slit. Sam moans and leans forward, his forehead pressing against Dean’s shoulder, hands hovering over Dean’s hips. “It’s okay,” Dean assures him softly, turning his head, nose nuzzling through Sam’s hair. “You can touch me. Want you to.”  
  
Sam’s big, warm hands curl around his hips and he turns his head, tucks his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. He’s already starting to breathe a little heavier, wet-warm breath panting against Dean’s skin and it sends a wave of heated blood coursing through Dean’s veins, his cock pulsing and pressing against the back of his zipper. He keeps moving the hand he has around Sam’s impressive length, feels him harden more, a fresh glob of pre-come oozing down the flushed-red tip. He wraps his other arm around Sam, hand sliding down over his ass again, fingers teasing at the cleft.  
  
“Dean,” Sam gasps, soft and breathy, and Dean feels his eyelashes fluttering against his neck.  
  
“Gonna fuck you, baby,” Dean half-growls, smears his thumb over the sticky-wet head of Sam’s cock. “Gonna bend you over my desk and have you writhing and moaning, gonna make you come just on my cock.”  
  
Sam moans, his dick twitching in Dean’s hand, more pre-come leaking steadily from the slit. “You like the sound’a that?” Dean asks, dips his head, lips and tongue moving over the sweat-salty skin of Sam’s neck. He scrapes his teeth over Sam’s pounding pulse and Sam’s whole body jerks, another strangled moan tearing from his throat.  
  
“Dean, please,” Sam begs hoarsely. Fresh arousal burns through Dean. Sam begging him so pretty already speaks to the domineering side of Dean and he just knows with time and the proper training that he could make Sam into an excellent sub. He’s already so naturally, beautifully submissive, just needs a firm but gentle hand to refine it.  
  
“Please what, sweetheart?” Dean murmurs against his neck, biting down just a bit harder, Sam’s pulse picking up even more beneath his lips.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Sam breathes. “Need…”  
  
“I know what you need, Sammy,” Dean purrs. “Gonna give it to you, darlin’.”  
  
Dean forces himself to pull away, smirking to himself when Sam whimpers and reaches for him. He rubs one hand over Sam’s hip and eases him back against the desk. Sam’s wide eyes follow him intently as he grabs his bag, digs through the outer pocket to find the lube and condoms he stashed in there three days after the first time he saw Sam. He knew they’d eventually get here and he wanted to always be prepared. He sets both items down on his desk and leans against Sam’s chest, his hip just barely pressing against the hard line of Sam’s cock. Leaning up, he kisses Sam, fast and dirty. “Want’chu to turn around and lean over the desk for me,” he murmurs against Sam’s lips.  
  
Sam makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and scrambles to do as he’s told as soon as Dean pulls back enough to give him room to move. He bends over, chest and forearms resting on the desk, ass high in the air, legs spread wide. Dean hums happily and slides his hands over the swell of Sam’s ass, fingers digging into firm muscle as he pulls him open, getting just a peak at his furled, pink rim. Draping himself over Sam, Dean kisses his shoulder, the back of his neck. “Don’t move,” he instructs, tone a soft, raspy growl.  
  
Sam nods and drops his head down, forehead resting on his crossed arms. Dean presses another kiss to the back of his neck in silent praise then slides his lips and tongue down Sam’s spine. He pulls him open wider, thumbs digging into the crease of his ass as he drops to his knees. The first wet stripe over Sam’s rim has the younger man crying out, his whole body jerking.  
  
“Dean…” Sam pants, lifting up off the desk, turning his head to look over his shoulder.  
  
Dean stands back up quickly and pushes Sam back down onto the desk. “Told you not to move,” he reminds, firm but soft. Sam will learn. He draws one hand back and then brings it back down on the meat of Sam’s ass with a smack, the pale skin pinking up nicely. Sam jerks, his eyes squeezing closed and a broken moan tears from his throat. Dean smirks and repeats the process, rubs his fingers over the slightly blood-warmed skin. “Gonna stay still?” he asks.  
  
“Yes,” Sam breathes, shoulders and back heaving as he struggles to pull in air.  
  
“Good boy,” Dean praises.  
  
Dropping back to his knees, he presses a kiss to the pink skin that he spanked then moves back to the center, pulling Sam open once more. He laves his tongue over Sam’s rim, again and again, instantly addicted to the sweat-salty, musky taste. Sam moans and mewls and writhes against him but he doesn’t move from the desk again and Dean’s proud of him. He’s obviously a very fast learner.  
  
He pushes his tongue against the tight ring of muscle, groaning when the tip sinks in just past the loosening rim. Sam’s gone nearly incoherent beneath him, almost sobbing with each breath and moan, pushing back against Dean. He slips one finger in next to his tongue, adding a second after a few moments when Sam begs for more.  
  
He’s not entirely sure how long he spends fingering Sam’s ass while eating him wet and sloppy but by the time he stands up his knees are aching a bit and Sam’s filthy-wet and taking three of his fingers easy. There’s a sheen of sweat covering Sam’s entire body, the soft glow of Dean’s desktop lamp making him look even more beautiful. Grabbing the lube, he pours some directly down the crack of Sam’s ass, pushes it into his hole, biting his bottom lip nearly bloody as Sam moans and pushes back against him, back arching, thighs trembling.  
  
Dean pulls away, presses a kiss to Sam’s shoulder when he whines in distress and quickly strips off his slacks and boxer-briefs and rolls on the condom. His black and silver striped tie catches his attention and he can just imagine the silky material tied around Sam’s wrists, the colors a beautiful contrast to his tan skin. He slides his hands beneath Sam’s chest, pulling him up. Sam stands on shaky legs, lets Dean turn him around, his hazel eyes dark and hazy, cheeks sweat-slick and flushed, lips bitten-red. Dean grabs his tie and holds it up, gaze laser-locked on Sam’s.  
  
“Gonna bind your wrists,” he informs the younger man. Sam’s eyes widen slightly but Dean can feel Sam’s cock twitch against his hip. “Hands behind your back, sweetheart.”  
  
Sam does as he’s told, barely hesitating at all. Dean reaches behind him and swiftly binds his wrists together, tight enough that he can’t get loose but not tight enough to cut off circulation. Once he’s finished he grabs two handfuls of Sam’s hair, pulls him down into a slow, deep kiss. “Want you on your back,” Dean murmurs once he pulls away, nips at Sam’s bottom lip.  
  
Sam once again lets Dean manhandle him, lets Dean lay him back and spread him out over his desk, long legs hanging off the edge, chest pressing forward with how his back arches around his bound wrists. He’s fucking _gorgeous_ and Dean steps between his thighs, rocks Sam’s legs up into the bend of his elbows, reaches down awkwardly to line himself up.  
  
Pushing into Sam’s tight, wet heat is indescribable. Dean’s had a lot of sex in his day, some really freaking _hot_ sex, but everything before pales in comparison to feeling Sam open up beneath him, around him, inner muscles rippling and fluttering, seemingly sucking Dean in deeper and deeper. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, balls pressing against the sweet curve of Sam’s ass. Sam’s panting beneath him, wide eyes begging silently, cock hard and curved up toward his flat abs, tip shiny-wet and flushed-red.  
  
He gives them both just a few seconds to adjust then settles right into a slow, hard, deep rhythm, lifting Sam’s hips up, pulling all the way out, just the tip of his cock still inside Sam, then slams back in. Sam mewls and arches even more, shoulders the only part of him that is even touching the desk anymore. Dean shifts his hips, angle perfect to hit Sam’s prostate on every other thrust, Sam’s cock twitching with each stroke, his cries getting longer and louder.  
  
Leaning over, Dean mouths at Sam’s chest, wishes like hell he could get to those bitten-red lips but with Sam bound the way he is, Dean can’t quite reach, doesn’t want to bend Sam in half like that and risk hurting him. Sam lifts his head and nuzzles his nose against Dean’s temple, the top of his head. Dean smiles against the sweat-slick skin and pulls back, hands bracing on the desk to get better leverage.  
  
“Feels so good, baby,” Dean rasps. “So tight, so perfect around me.”  
  
He's slamming into Sam hard enough that if Dean’s desk wasn’t huge and sturdy, it’d be sliding across the floor but Sam still moans and whimpers and begs for more, harder. Dean complies as best he can, the slap of skin against skin overly loud and filthily obscene and so achingly perfect.  
  
Dean lost track of time ages ago, not even remotely sure how long they’ve been at this, knows it’s been a while but it still feels entirely too soon when warmth starts to pool low in his stomach, the base of his spine, his groin tightening. He somehow picks up the pace, fingers curling around Sam’s shoulders to keep him from sliding across the now-slick surface of his desk.  
  
“You close?” he asks, twisting his hips, nailing Sam’s sweet spot hard. “Gonna come for me?”  
  
“So close,” Sam moans, soft and breathy. “Just… More, Dean. Need more…”  
  
“Just this, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs. “You can do it. Come on my cock, Sammy.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam whines, head thrashing, hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks in sweaty clumps. “ _Can’t_.”  
  
“You can,” Dean counters. He’s so close himself, can feel the pressure of his orgasm swirling through his veins. “You can, baby,” he repeats, reaches up and palms Sam’s cheek, their eyes locking together. “Such a good boy for me.”  
  
Sam’s eyes widen then slam shut, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat, back arching higher as his untouched cock twitches and jerks a split-second before his climax tears through him, release streaking his stomach and chest in pearly-white. His inner muscles clench and flutter around Dean and any hope he had of holding out longer is snatched away. He pushes in deep, as deep as possible, groaning, unable to look away from the pleasure twisting Sam’s beautiful features even as his own pleasure overwhelms him.  
  
After several long moments, he’s mostly got his breathing under control and reaches down, holding onto the condom as he slips his softening cock from Sam’s hole. Sam whines and wiggles, tries to close his legs, tries to get up, but he’s obviously too tired or too sated to do much. Dean tosses the rubber then grabs Sam’s shoulders, helps him sit up carefully, reaches behind him to undo his tie. Sam whimpers softly when Dean pulls his arms around, rolls his shoulders and rubs at his wrists. Dean lifts each hand and presses a kiss to his wrist, silent apology for the slightly chaffed skin. He grabs his own undershirt and cleans them both up as best as he can before helping Sam stand up then leads him to the big, comfy leather couch in the corner of his office.  
  
Dean flops down and pulls Sam with him, tucks the taller man against his side, both arms around his still slightly trembling frame. “You okay?” he asks softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.  
  
Sam tilts his head back enough to look up at him, a soft, sated smile curling up his lips. “I’m okay,” he answers just as softly.  
  
Dean isn’t good at relationships or dealing with people on a personal level but he knows that he wants more of this, more of _Sam_. “Can we… I’d like to do this again,” Dean murmurs, dipping down to brush a kiss to Sam’s lips.  
  
Sam’s smile brightens even as he dips his head just slightly. “I’d like that,” he whispers back.  
  
Dean hums and tucks him closer, eyes closing when Sam buries his face against Dean’s neck. They’ll have to get up soon and get dressed, straighten his office back up but for now, this is perfect and exactly what Dean wants. And Dean always gets what he wants.


End file.
